


Potion of Passion: Ned Stark and Petyr Baelish

by LittlePoison



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 11:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15773082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePoison/pseuds/LittlePoison
Summary: Littlefinger procures a potion that induces lust.





	1. The Maiden's Beard

**Chapter 1: The Maiden's Beard**

 

Even in the darkest hours of the night, the citizens of Kings Landing sweltered in the heat of the summer air. Surly, foul-smelling men sauntered shirtless through the streets of the whore district, desperately searching for a wench to relieve themselves in. As sweat beaded down his forehead, Petyr Baelish cursed the uncommonly long season under his breath, the men gave him looks as he passed in his heavy woollen cloak, but the disguise was necessary, nobody must see what he was about to do.

  
Finally Littlefinger saw the wooden signpost above his head, swinging on its hinges ever so slightly in the midnight breeze, 'The Maidens Beard'. Petyr had heard of this establishment, it was a well-known deformity brothel posing as a rowdy tavern to avoid whore-tax. He didn't mind, peg-legged prostitutes and three-armed harlots were no competition for the beauties at his brothel. Trying his best not to stare at the hairy-chested woman greeting clients at the door, he walked past the "tavern" and covertly ducked into the narrow alley running at its side.

A hooded figure came upon him immediately, brandishing a knife.

  
"Rockthorn." Petyr said with no delay.

  
The man nodded and sheathed his weapon, appeased. "It is you." He said in a thick Dornish accent. "You are earlier than I expected."

  
"I do not wish to waste any time," said Petyr. "Did you have any trouble?"

  
"I have not had to kill anyone. The men here are a curious sort, but cowardly. One I slashed, but only across the face. He thought I was... one of them."

  
Petyr stifled a laugh. "He thought you were a freak?"

  
"A whore freak!" The man seethed. "I should have killed him for the insult, but he ran inside."

  
"I'm sure he's forgetting his troubles between the sticky thighs of a two-headed wench as we speak." Littlefinger quipped. "But enough about that, give me the potion."

  
"It is not a potion, it is a drug. Maester says the distinction matters, because-"

  
Liquid splashed on the cobblestone behind them as a bare-breasted woman emptied her chamberpot from the window above. The urine wetted the back of Littlefinger's cowhide shoes.

  
"The only thing that matters," Petyr snapped. "Is that I get what I want. Give me the potion before we are spotted or your Maester will hear of your insubordination."  
The man procured a vial of clear substance from underneath his cloak. "I think it is a sick thing, what you are doing. I would kill you, but Maester says if I don't do what he says... he'll stop giving me my antidote."

  
Petyr was surprised to hear such moral outrage from a Dornishman, it was his experience that in the far south they were more ambivalent towards unconventional sexuality. It was a lucky thing that the man was a puppet of a powerful maester, and a greedy maester at that. Petyr could pay the citadel to produce potions of all kinds, with absolute confidentiality.

  
He snatched the vial out of the mans hands and quickly pocketed it. "Its been a pleasure." He smiled.


	2. Red Velvet Pillows

**Chapter 2 - Red Velvet Pillows**

 

Having worked in the sex industry for so many years, Littlefinger appreciated the privilege of fine decorum. When he was but a whore, he often entertained his clients in backalleys, being held against slimy stone walls with nothing around but rodents and rubbish. When he worked in his first brothel, the rooms were plain and windowless in the interest of staying inconspicuous, and the beds were nothing but large skins of straw. He remembered Mr. Porter, a client of his whose wife had hired him as a house slave, thrusting into him mercilessly against the hard stone floor, as he said the bed scratched his legs. He had worked up many a bruise on account of that horrible place.

  
Now that he owned the brothel, he wanted more for his sweet boywhores. Carpets and rugs of orange and red softened the floors of every room in the building, and erotic tapestries and oil paintings adorned the walls of the most prestigious chambers. Of course, his own chambers were the most lavish of all. Before his desk, red velvet cushions had been strewn about the floor. Often Petyr would have many of his whores perform for him on that floor, an orgy of sexual indulgence was the most beautiful decoration one could have.

  
But for now, the floor was empty, save for those red velvet cushions. Petyr was expecting a visitor. Not so long ago Lord Eddard Stark had come down from the North at King Robert's behest. Now serving as Hand of the King, for a King who had long since lost his passion for rule, Ned Stark was the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. Petyr could not miss the opportunity to get to know him more.

  
Sitting at his desk, Petyr absently tapped the glass of his decanter. The wine had been infused with potion. The only problem was making Ned drink it.

  
The door swung open unceremoniously, and Eddard Stark entered the room, bringing with him a heavy frown and a heavier air of disgust.

  
"Lord Baelish," Ned said, standing at his desk. "I would know the reason you summoned me here."

  
Petyr smiled. "Ned, my friend. It is good to see you. Are you settling in well to your new position? Please, sit."

  
Ned did not sit, and his stony expression remained unchanged. "I would do away with these pleasantries, my lord. I assume you have more information on the assassination attempt we discussed earlier."

  
Ah yes, the Stark boy at Winterfell. When he learned that an attempt had been made at Brandon Stark's life, Littlefinger pointed Catelyn in the direction of Tyrion Lannister. Petyr was interested to see how that little play would turn out.

  
"I do not." Petyr said matter-of-factly. "But I do have some... information, of a different matter, that may be of interest to you. Sit."

  
For half a second Petyr thought Ned would walk out there and then, but he soon yielded, pulling up a chair. Petyr swirled his wine glass, his own drink being clean of any tampering substance.

  
"If this is one of your foolish games Baelish-"

  
"Ned. You are a distrusting man by nature, I understand that. But there is no need for distrust among friends."

  
"Friends?" Ned scoffed. "The wine has gone to your head Baelish."

  
"Perhaps it has. Would you like to try some? Dornish red, it really is quite good."

  
"Do not act familiar with me. What is it you have to share?"

  
"Oh Ned," Littlefinger sighed, pouring a glass of wine from the tampered decanter. "You wound me. I am no villain. I wish to mend this broken relationship of ours." He pushed the glass towards Ned. "Let us be friends. This is a dangerous city, men like us... we must stick together."

  
"Men like us?" Ned scoffed again, ignoring the drink being offered. "We are nothing alike Baelish, I am no whoretrader."

  
Petyr laughed. "Touche, Stark. No, I think we are more alike than you realise. I've always thought so. I seem to recall... now forgive me here, for I am no good with names, and I am sure he is long dead. Beryn Stone was it? The stableboy at the Eyrie."

  
Ned's eyes widened, he absently patted at the sweat collecting on his forehead. Petyr wondered how much of that sweat was on account of the heat. "I don't know what foolish notion you have in your head," he said sternly. "But those rumours were nothing but childish jibes."

Petyr smiled. "I see. I thought it unlikely. You were both so young, I can't imagine it was ever as... explicit as the rumours stated."

  
Ned's face reddened, the stress building up inside him. He reached for the wine glass. "I do not wish to discuss this nonsense any further." The northern lord took an uncharacteristically large swig of his Dornish red. "I must leave. There are duties to attend to."

  
Petyr stood up suddenly. _No_ , he thought. _Once the potion sets in, its the first person he sees. It has to be me._ He put himself between Ned and the door.

  
"Please, Lord Stark. I... apologise."

  
"Out of my way Baelish." Ned pushed past him and reached for the exit.

  
Littlefingers mind was in a panic, he had to make Ned stay, if only for a little longer. Say something, say anything!

  
"I was jealous!" He blurted out.

  
Ned Stark turned around, a look of bewilderment on his face.

  
"Yes," Petyr nodded. "When I heard how Beryn had enjoyed your company... when I heard how you took him in the stables. I pretended to laugh at you, I told the other boys you were a degenerate. But I wanted you. I wanted you to throw me into the hay and make me feel like a whore, just like you did with Beryn. I... I still want you, Ned Stark."

  
Littlefinger had never seen Ned with eyes so wide. A green vein pressed against the surface of his forehead, ready to burst. For a moment, Petyr actually feared for his safety. Ned's hands formed into fists at his sides.

  
But in a single moment, that rocky, angry exterior fell apart. His fists uncurled, his mouth fell open, his eyes, still wide open, became docile and afraid.

  
"Petyr..." he said. "You sick... you sick whore."

  
"Yes," he replied. "I am... I'm a sick whore, Lord Stark. I'm a sick whore and I'm... I'm only good for one thing." Littlefinger took one step forward. "I've wanted you for so long. I know you want me too..." He took another step. "Somewhere in there you've been hiding it. You got married, you dedicated yourself to your wife and children but... it never goes away. I know what you want Lord Stark." Petyr took one more step, and now his face was inches from Ned's. He could feel the mans rough breath on his lips. "I can give you what you want... you just have to take it." Petyr's hand fell onto Ned's chest, slowly trailing down past his stomach. "Please..."


	3. Indescribable Ecstasy

**Chapter 3 - Indescribable Ecstasy**

 

Just like the man himself, the kiss was hard and bristly. Ned held Petyr in a rough, uncomfortable embrace, his hands painfully squeezing underneath the back of Petyrs shoulders. But Petyr didn't care, he had done it, he had seduced Ned Stark, and now the man was his.

  
The kiss broke off suddenly, and the two men stared into each others eyes. Petyr saw nothing but barely restrained lust in the eyes of the northern lord, he smiled and licked his lips teasingly. "Perhaps you would like to get more comfortable my lord, why don't you join me on the-"

  
Ned squeezed Petyrs lips shut between his fingers as he held the brothel lords mouth closed, with only a small squeal of pain escaping his fist. "I have had enough of this... talking." Ned Stark said, panting like a desperately hungry lion stalking its prey. "Your filthy mouth is only good for one thing Baelish."

  
_The effects are greater than I expected._ Petyr thought. _This will be interesting._

  
Without warning Littlefinger was forced onto his knees, Ned already pulling at the laces of his breeches. And there it was, Eddard Starks thick, hairy, northern cock. Petyr had heard the men were better endowed in the North, but the eight inches before him were more than he'd ever imagined.

  
He went to grab the shaft, but before he could lift his hand Ned's cock was aggressively thrust into the back of Petyrs throat. Petyr had a sudden urge to throw up, he gagged terribly as his throat adjusted to the large intruding instrument. Ned held him tightly by the hair and had his way with Littlefingers throat, pulling his cock back to the mans tongue and then painfully thrusting again into the back of his neck. Tears collected in Petyr's eyes from the choking, and they trailed down his face, dying on his cheeks. This was what he had wanted... but it didn't feel right.

At long last Neds cock pulled out of Petyrs mouth as abruptly as it had gone in, and Lord Stark pushed Petyr over backwards onto the floor. Luckily he landed on a red velvet cushion, looking up as Ned took his shirt off and kicked away his breaches. His body was just as Littlefinger had imagined it, a body of faded handsomeness, a belly bigger than it used to be, but large muscles around his shoulders and arms, formed from years of physical prowess. Ned crawled on top of him and pulled at this shirt, ripping it off in an instant. Noone had ever ripped clothes off Petyr before, when he had read it happen in erotic books, they never mentioned the pain of the fabric tearing against your skin. His trousers survived the Lords lust when Ned realised he couldn't tear them, instead he pulled them off and threw them behind his shoulder.

Petyr's legs were lifted into the air as Ned scooted into position, his ankles rested on either side of Neds face. Thankfully, Ned was more considerate off Petyrs arse than he was of his throat. He started with two fingers, swirling them around the entrance while licking his ankles. Petyr closed his eyes tightly and moaned, knowing what was coming next. It wasnt long before the two fingers forced their way into him, stroking the walls of his rectum deeper and deeper. This is what Petyr had wanted. It had been so long since he had been used like this. He craved it, the feel of another man inside him.

He didn't have long to grow impatient, Ned withdrew his fingers and positioned his cock at Petyrs entrance with no ceremony. Slowly but surely, he thrust himself inside. Petyr heard himself scream, was it a scream of pain or of pleasure? Perhaps both in equal measure. He grabbed hold of the cushion behind him as Ned rocked him back and forth on the end of his cock.

"Stark!" He screamed, looking up at the sweaty, middle-aged lord penetrating him. "It... it... it hurts! Faster, yes, yes, yes, yes, faster!"

It was the greatest pleasure. It was the divine pleasure. The feeling of being fucked. Having the Lord of Winterfell use your hole like a toy. He wondered if he could ever achieve sexual gratification higher than this. If he never did, it would be enough. He felt tears stream down his face from the passion, his legs wrapped around Neds shoulders, the man fucked like an animal, he fucked like it was the end of the world. Petyr wanted it to never end.

But it did. Ned pulled out of him. It was only then that Petyr noticed the wetness of his chin, he had been drooling like a mad dog.

Ned picked him up, throwing him over his shoulder, and walked over to the desk. Sitting in Littlefingers chair, Ned held Petyr over his knee, squeezing and toying with the mans two perfectly-formed, ever so slightly hairy arse cheeks. He lifted his hand up, and it came crashing down onto Littlefingers behind.

Littlefinger cried out. This time it was just pain. "Ow!" He screamed over his shoulder to Ned, at Ned. An accusing look in his eyes.

Ned didn't care. Down came his hand a second time. Petyr cried out. "Ned!"

It hurt, it hurt! But oh god, something about it. Something about being over Eddard Starks knee.

"Ow! Please! Please!"

Petyr wasn't sure if he was begging Ned to stop, or begging him to continue.

Neds hand smacked against Littlefingers red cheeks, again, again, again. Petyr bit his lip, he did not want to beg anymore. But oh god, it felt so good. Being spanked had never been a kink of his, but when Eddard Stark's hand came crashing down against his arse, it scratched a certain itch that he never knew he had. He knew then there was no turning back. He wanted this man forever, he wanted to feel this good always. In that moment, Petyr would do anything Eddard said.

"The desk," Ned instructed. It wasn't an offer, it wasn't a suggestion. Petyr crawled onto the desk, positioning himself on all fours. He expected Ned to climb up behind him, but instead he pulled up his chair, grabbed Petyr by the thighs, and leaned in to feast on Littlefinger's hole. The feeling of Neds tongue licking up and down the most sensitive area of his body drove Littlefinger to the deepest reaches of ecstasy. He felt his head hit the table as his whole body gave in to the pleasure, Ned's hand firmly held Petyr's buttocks apart as his tongue delved deeper and deeper.

The indescribable ecstasy drove Petyr to the edge of madness. His hands banged against the table below, unable to take the magnitude of pleasure overcoming him.  
Eventually it stopped, Ned had had enough. He picked Petyr up and threw him over his shoulder yet again, and kicking the desk out of the way he carried his lover over to the bed.

Ned put Petyr down and made himself comfortable on the lavish cushions and blankets. He turned and embraced Littlefinger. It was different to the embrace from earlier. Worlds different. It was an embrace not just of passion but of... no, love is far too much, isn't it? But why did it feel that way? Why did sex and love sometimes... get confused? Petyr decided to quiet his thoughts by pulling Ned into a deep kiss.

It wasn't long before Petyr found himself on top of the man, straddling him gently. Something had changed, things were... slower. Neds kisses were thoughtful, caring. Petyr thought that if he could just lay next to Ned Stark tonight, that would almost be enough for him.

Almost. Instead he grabbed the Lord's cock, positioning it precisely underneath his hole, and slowly let it enter him once again. For a few seconds he just enjoyed the feeling of being full of Ned, and then the craving came back, the craving for a good fuck. Slowly he bounced himself up and down, appreciating every second of the process. Ned's eyes were closed, but his expression was as tender as a lamb. This time, Petyr knew that he was in control.

 _Ned Stark has brought out the gentle lover in me_ , he thought. He never imagined anybody could do that.

As Petyr proceeded to work himself on Ned's cock, he could feel the mans hands squeezing his hips, as if demanding more. Petyr went faster, and faster, until Ned was moaning like a maiden. Finally, Ned spilled himself inside, and Petyr curled up next to his new lover. They shared a tender kiss. If they could just lay like this, it would almost be enough. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I just accidentally wrote three thousand words of filthy Ned/Petyr fanfic. How was your day? I'm thinking of expanding this into a series that pairs unlikely couples together into erotic chapters using the concept of the Potion of Passion. If you have any couple suggestions feel free to send them my way! Btw, in case it was too vague, the potion makes people want to have sex with the first person they see. I always thought Ned and Petyr had weird sexual tension, but I also thought it would take a magic spell or potion to get Ned to admit, let alone give in to it.


End file.
